The Suicide Plot
by Kayla B
Summary: Spike makes it better. Spike/Xander


**The Suicide Plot**  
by Kayla

  
  
  
Disclaimer: ::blink:: Raise your hand if you seriously think these guys belong to me. ::glances around:: Yeah, that's what I thought...  
  
  


* * *

  
No one knew he'd kept it. So many years since that Halloween night when he'd actually **been** someone! Someone strong, someone brave! And now, all that was left of that was one of the many weapons he'd stockpiled while in his soldier guise.   
  
Xander held up the gun, tilting it back and forth. It was loaded. He knew it was loaded, because he'd just put a bullet in the chamber. Only one; if he did this right, that's all he would need. And how hard could it be to kill yourself?   
  
He stared around the quiet room, so devoid of any happiness and life. Well, in a few minutes, it would be even more lifeless. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Xander closed his eyes and lifted the gun to his temple. His finger slowly squeezed the trigger.   
  
The sudden pounding on the door startled him, and he flinched, his arm jerking. Time seemed to move in slow motion as his finger jerked on the trigger. It was wrong; he knew it was wrong. And in the split second before the deafening shot echoed through his ears, his only thought was, 'Well, fuck!'. Then, his world exploded in a haze of crimson agony.   
  


* * *

  
Spike stood outside Xander's apartment, blatantly ignoring the 'No Smoking' signs as he took a deep drag from his cigarette. He glared at the stub that remained, then nonchalantly flicked it onto the floor, snickering as it scorched a mark in the pristine carpeting before he ground it out with his heel. Transferring his glare back to the door, he took a moment to try and figure out why he'd come here.   
  
He shrugged, deciding to chalk it up to sheer boredom, then pounded heavily on the door. He jumped back at the sharp 'crack' that came from behind the door. "Whelp? You in there?" He frowned, his nose wrinkling at the acrid smell of gunpowder that wafted out. A smell that was drowned out by the headier scent of freshly shed blood.   
  
"Shit," he muttered. Without any internal qualms about doing so, he kicked the door in, wood splintering as the locks were wrenched out of place. At least he had no problems with barriers, thanks to the invite he'd managed to trick out of Xander during an argument once. A fact for which he found himself grateful when he rushed in to find Xander's body slumped over the couch, blood gushing from a wound in his head.   
  
Spike cursed when he saw the gun dangling from limp fingers. He darted forward and yanked it away, checking to see if it was still loaded before hurling it across the room. "Xander? Mate?" He could hear the faint throb of a pulse in the boy, so at least he knew Xander wasn't dead. At least not yet. But with the amount of blood coating him...   
  
Spike blinked, licking his lips at the sight of all that fresh, delicious blood that was positively calling his name. He stepped forward, kneeling in front of Xander. "Hey, you ok?" When he received no answer, he reached out and ran a finger down the boy's cheek. He brought the blood-covered digit to his mouth, moaning at the explosion of flavor across his tongue. "Xander?" he tried again in a whisper.   
  
Still no response, and he leaned forward, gently tilting Xander's head toward him. His tongue appeared, and he lapped at the trickles of blood that had run down the boy's neck. He groaned, feeling himself vamp out as he began to lick more fervently, making his way up Xander's face and removing every drop of the precious fluid that he could find.   
  
He nuzzled through sticky locks of hair, coming closer to the source. The bullet wound; the wound that still reeked of gunpowder as blood continued to flow sluggishly from it.   
  
Spike wrenched himself back, panting heavily. "Get a grip, Spike," he ordered himself, shaking slightly. He took a deep breath to steady himself, absently wondering why he still had a habit of doing that even after more than a century of not needing to breathe. Standing, he ran a trembling hand through his hair. With a mental smack to his libido, which was thoroughly enjoying the sight of the bloody human sprawled nearby, he made his way to the kitchen, where he managed to fill a bowl with warm water.   
  
Taking the bowl and a clean washcloth back to the couch, he knelt again. He soaked the cloth, then set about carefully cleaning off the drying traces of blood from Xander's face. As best he could, he washed out the matted hair, gently pushing it away from the oozing wound. He dabbed at the long, ragged gash, feeling a faint twinge of relief that the boy didn't seem to be in any danger of bleeding to death.   
  
A quick trip to the bathroom provided him with a remarkably well-stocked first-aid kit. Several bandages were laid atop the injury, and wrapped in place with a liberal amount of gauze. When he'd finished, Spike sat back, smirking when he thought how Xander now resembled on of these amnesia patients on the soaps. Not that he watched soaps; Passions was **not** a soap!   
  
Spike sighed as he stared at the unconscious boy, for the first time wondering what the hell Xander had thought he was trying to do. Shaking his head, he hefted the limp body and carried him to his bedroom. Amazingly enough, he had a lot of practice divesting uncooperative individuals of their clothes, so had no problems getting Xander out of his ruined garments.   
  
Shamelessly, he took full advantage of the opportunity to get an eyeful of Xander's naked form, wondering when the whelp had managed to acquire all those muscles. Very firm, bronzed, glistening muscles. And those stiff, pert little nipples...   
  
Spike's fingers twitched, aching to run along warm skin and sneak into every dip and crevice on Xander's body. He growled softly, his hand reaching out and ever so softly touching the tiny patch of hair that started at the boy's belly and trailed down, down...   
  
"Ahh!" Spike pulled back, thumping his head with his hand. "What are you **doing**? You do **not** want this...boy!" Whirling, he hurried back out to the scene of the crime, glowering at the blood-spotted couch. He noticed the door still hanging open, so he stalked over and slammed it shut. The gun he picked up and slipped into one of the pockets in his duster, then he removed the duster and hung it neatly in the closet.   
  
Wearily, he sank onto the floor, gaze once more fixed on the couch. "I don't want him," he whispered. "I just fixed him up 'cause Slutty would've staked me if she knew I'd let him bleed out. I do **not** want to tie him to the bed, lick every bit of his hot flesh, then bury myself in his tight body and shag him senseless. I **don't**!"   
  
He glared down at the erection pressing painfully at the front of his jeans, eagerly denying his every word. "Bloody hell."   
  


* * *

  
Xander woke, whimpering pitifully at the throbbing headache he was experiencing. For a minute, he was confused, since he certainly didn't remember getting drunk enough to be this hungover.   
  
Then it came back to him, and his eyes flew wide open. He jerked his body upright, then fell back with an anguished yell. His hand reached up gingerly felt at the source of the pain. When he encountered the gauze wrappings, he sighed. It seemed that this wasn't some freaky afterlife, but that'd he managed to screw up something as simple as suicide. He wondered if other people had this kind of trouble...   
  
"'Bout time."   
  
Xander screeched as the voice startled him, and he sat up quickly. Too quickly. He groaned and cradled his head in his hands, eyes closed as he did his best to ignore the fact that there was a smirking vampire sitting on the end of his bed.   
  
"You probably need these."   
  
Xander peeled an eyelid back up, fixating intently on the tiny white pills that were being held out to him. With a sound of desperate relief, Xander snatched the pills away and swallowed them dry.   
  
Spike made a show of checking his fingers, then stood and paced across the small room. "What the bleedin' **hell** did you think you were doing?!" He glared at Xander.   
  
Xander sank back down and stared up at the ceiling. "Don't pretend that you care, Spike. It doesn't suit you."   
  
Spike threw his hands up. "Fine. I **don't** care. But next time you plan on fucking well **shooting** yourself, at least gimme the heads up so all that lovely blood doesn't go to waste!" He loomed over Xander, a furious expression on his face.   
  
Xander snorted. "Gee, comfort much? I'm surprised you didn't take advantage of me while I was all injured an unconscious."   
  
Spike cleared his throat and glanced away.   
  
"Oh my god. You did! You...you..." He spluttered, unable to find the words. Then he blanched. "Oh fuck. Tell me your mouth was nowhere near my body."   
  
Spike coughed, then turned and began fiddling with the lamp that was on the bedside table.   
  
"Oh, ew, gross! You...licked me! Didn't you? Oh, man!"   
  
"Oh for cryin' out loud! You botch up killin' yourself, so I find you sittin' there like a little vamp snack, an' you expect me not to have a taste? It's not like I...**molested** you or anything!"   
  
Xander's headache was suddenly forgotten as he flashed to a mental image of Spike licking and nibbling at his skin.   
  
"And what was up with the whole dramatic gun bit? What's so bad you wanna die over it?" Spike folded his arms over his chest, foot tapping impatiently as he awaited Xander's reasoning.   
  
Xander caught his breath and rolled onto his side, back to the vampire. "Go 'way," he muttered.   
  
Eyes narrowed, Spike plunked himself down on the bed beside Xander. "I'm bloody well not goin' **anywhere** until you talk to me!"   
  
Xander remained stubbornly silent. He knew Spike couldn't really care, and would probably try to hold this entire incident over his head later, but... He let out a shuddering breath, sniffling softly.   
  
Spike listened to the boy struggling not to cry. He sighed and curled up behind Xander, a hand resting lightly on his back. "Xander, please..."   
  
At the touch, something inside Xander broke. His shoulders heaved as he began to sob quietly. He hugged a pillow close, trying to muffle the wretched sounds.   
  
Spike tried to resist, he really did. But the sounds were tearing at his unbeating heart, and he gave in, wrapping his arms around the shaking boy and pulling him close. He started to purr softly as he rocked, keeping it up until Xander finally began to calm.   
  
Xander wiped at his eyes, feeling drained. "I'm nothing," he confessed in a small voice.   
  
Spike never quit rocking, but he growled a little. "You're not nothing," he admonished the human.   
  
"I am," Xander reiterated. "I'm **nothing**." He sniffled again, searching for the words to explain. "See...Buffy, she's the Slayer. And Giles is Watcher guy. Oz had the werewolf thing going for him when he was around, and Wills and Tara have the whole witch stuff happening. Riley is all studly commando guy, and even you have the vampire thing. Me? I'm...nothing."   
  
"Xander--"   
  
Xander cut him off. "I...I **was** something once. You remember? On Halloween, I was all 'take charge, kick evil ass solider man'. But...it was just an accident. Because really, I'm nothing." He laughed bitterly. "Even Anya had her ex-demoness gig to fall back on. And she must have thought I was nothing too, 'cause she left me."   
  
Spike winced, knowing what that felt like. Being dumped sucked...and not in a good way. He stroked Xander's belly, hoping to calm him a bit.   
  
Xander curled around the touch and went on. "They don't need me, you know. No one does. I'm like...errand boy. I get doughnuts, I act as bait, I do the things no one else wants to and they foist off on me. And even those excellent qualifications aren't good enough to keep me in a job that pays above minimum wage. Which of course means I can't afford to keep the apartment, and I've been expressly forbidden from ever returning to 'chez basement'." Another muffled sob worked its way out, but he continued speaking through it. "S-so I've got no girlfriend, no job, no home, and n-no one who really gives a fuck! And I'm such a screw-up, I can't even manage to kill myself right!"   
  
Spike clutched at Xander, snarling. "Bite your tongue," he hissed. "You're **not** a screw-up, and **I** bloody well give a fuck!"   
  
"Spike, I--"   
  
"No! My turn!" His arms tightened around Xander. "Ok, so maybe I'm the evil vamp that no one can trust, and my opinion probably isn't worth much to any of your little gang. But damn it, this isn't worth dying over! All those...morons; they don't appreciate you. Hell, they don't know how effin' good they got it with you around! You keep 'em all happy, and sane, and there's not a one of 'em that doesn't owe you their life for some reason!"   
  
He cuddled Xander closer, speaking directly into his ear. "That demon bint was a fool to let you go, an' if those wankers you work for can't tell a good thing when it smacks 'em in the face, then piss on 'em!" Then Spike snorted. "As for digs...hell, mate! I live in a crypt! You thing you got it bad?" Then, voice trembling, he managed to admit, "You're not 'nothing' to me, Xan. You're...you're..." He sighed in frustration, pulling away enough to roll Xander onto his back. He stared the boy in the eye and licked his lips nervously. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he bent down and brushed his lips over Xander's.   
  
Xander gasped, his head jerking back slightly. He gaped up at the vampire in disbelief, not sure whether to laugh, or cry, or run screaming from the room. And quite suddenly, he felt how Spike's cool body was pressed up against his own, skin meeting worn denim and soft cotton. Bare skin...and Xander finally realized that he'd somehow managed to wind up in bed with Spike, naked. And...it wasn't such a bad thing after all.   
  
"Xan?"   
  
Xander coughed. "Um, so...you don't think I'm nothing?"   
  
Spike smiled. "No. Definitely something. Dunno what, but...something."   
  
"Yeah? Something good?"   
  
"Oh, very good. Want me to prove it to you?"   
  
Heart beating wildly in his chest, Xander breathlessly asked, "How?"   
  
Spike quirked an eyebrow, leering at the exposed portions of Xander's body. "I think I can find a way."   
  
"It, uh...it might take a lot to convince me." He gasped as a hand wandered over his stomach, stroking softly.   
  
"It's daylight now, pet. I have all day. I think I can manage."   
  
"And...if you don't?"   
  
Spike nipped an earlobe, then whispered in a husky voice, "Well then, I'll just have to stay the night and...keep trying."   
  
"Oh. Right." He opened his mouth to add more, but became distracted by the tongue that suddenly plunged inside. At that moment, he decided that if he was going to die, this was certainly a much better way to do it. Death by sex...what could possibly go wrong with that?   
  
  
Finit   
  
  



End file.
